


Old

by twizzle



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst, Body Dysphoria, Gen, Prompt Fill, Self-Reflection, inspirobot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-13 00:04:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11747967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twizzle/pseuds/twizzle
Summary: Prompt: "Keep yourself old."





	Old

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aestivali](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aestivali/gifts).



> Written for a [prompt](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/839346.html?thread=104728498#t104728498) left on [Bite Sized Bits of Fic](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/)
> 
> Set before WoD, so there are no Legion spoilers here.

Khadgar stared at the old man in the mirror. No matter how many times he saw his reflection, it never looked how it should. How _he_ should. He had avoided it for years, but caught glimpses of himself nonetheless in the still water of his wash basin, an untested shield, a polished breastplate. Even his voice betrayed him with a huskiness he had not possessed before Medivh had drained his youth. But worse than how he appeared was hearing his apparent age reflected in the way people spoke to him; immediately he had gone from being viewed as a somewhat impossible - if gifted - youth, dismissed and listened to only out of politeness, to a figure of authority trusted for his age and experience. He had even began to believe it, cut off from Azeroth and stranded on the shattered world he learnt to accept as home.

But then his lack of years would catch up with him. A sudden blow to his mood and confidence would have him shutting himself in his rooms, curled in on himself, his joints complaining from the position and the strain as he mourned the life he had lost and the years he would never have. His mind would hurl accusations and call him a fraud and a liar, would berate him for how he took advantage of peoples assumptions, and the privilege he enjoyed in senior positions he never should have held. His eyes would sting. The tears would fall. And Khadgar would drown in guilt, in sorrow, and in how utterly _wrong_ the body he was trapped in felt.

He had known, when he had began his apprenticeship under Medivh, that his life would not be 'normal' - but he had never dreamed that _this_ would be the path it would take, that Medivh's parting curse would touch him so deeply and for so long.

Khadgar wiped at the tears that threatened, frowning at his reflection as he willed them away. He prodded at his crows feet, and traced the wrinkles that marked his skin. He swept his thumb up over his forehead, pulling it taught in an attempt to smooth the lines - but let it go with a sigh.

The Iron Horde had opened a gateway to their world. Azeroth needed champions once again, and champions were not _old_.

The scissors he borrowed were sharp, and made quick work of the long beard he had cultivated. The shaving cream was soft against his skin, a long-forgotten sensation, and with a fragrance took him back years. He remembered how he had fumbled when he learnt to shave, yet how easily the razor glided across his unblemished, young chin. Not that that prevented him cutting himself - his skin seemed more resilient, now, but the sting that followed the small nicks was still the same... as was how the cream stained pink like it was touched with a berry swirl. 

He tried to ignore how his hands shook and the way his stomach roiled as more of his face was revealed. He had not consciously been hiding behind his beard, but as he drew the razor across his skin to rid himself of more stubble he could not deny how exposed he felt without it.

Or how old he still looked.

He turned his gaze down, thankful his basin was clouded by shaving cream and clumps of hair so he did not have to see himself staring back. It had been foolish to think a shave would change how he felt, but it was done now.

Perhaps his new robes would help him take a step away from the dowdy, wizened image most associated with him - maybe they would help him feel less like an old man and more like the man he was, the man he should be. Only time would tell if it would change how others treated him; but he hoped, desperately, that the adventurers who answered his call would now see a man of experience, capable of advising, leading, and fighting, rather than what _he_ saw: an elderly mage with no place among the front lines.


End file.
